Shadow
by Gothelittle Rose
Summary: A new superhero with a mysterious past terrorizes the worst of Gotham's teen society.
1. Prologue

In they came, in small groups, nervous, distrusting each other

In they came, in small groups, nervous, distrusting each other. Each group of teens wore a different kind of outfit, different colors prominent, some with special hats or rags tied around their wrists. They filed into the old warehouse bit by bit, armed to the teeth, watching each other. "What are you doing here?" one teen in bright blue asked another in black and purple. "I was told the same thing you were, it looks like," the other replied. "Abandoned weapons cache. Look, we had better get some sort of distribution system, or some of these guys are going to tear each other apart." The two spoke not as kids, not as teens, not even as adults… but as world leaders do, watching each other's eyes, sizing each other up.

From far above, in the shadows, there was nothing to see. That did not mean that nothing was there.

The slight figure held perfectly still, watching. The plan had worked perfectly. There were only two gang leaders missing… there was still time. That group over there was increasingly edgy. They might decide to give it up, to leave early… sharp eyes watched them for signs of resolution to the indecision that held them in place. Another small group filtered in, adding to the growing quiet chaos… two… one… Perfect.

A button pressed, a number dialed, and a quiet voice, husky from attempted disguise, spoke into the little cellphone. "Please put me straight through to the police department."

"Gotham city police…"

"How would you like to take a large bite out of the youth-led crime tonight?"

"Excuse me?"

"I've rounded them up in the old warehouse on River Street. Come and get them."

"You'd better get out of there.. sir.. miss..? We've tried this game before. They always have a way out. They scatter like rats underground and we never catch half of them."

A slight smile tugged at the edge of the figure's lips. It would have been chillingly familiar… if it could be seen. "Not this time."

Another careful countdown, a precision watch hidden between dark cuff and dark glove… it was not lit. A gloved finger slid lightly over the watch surface and the figure nodded in satisfaction. Three.. two.. one.. there really was nothing as lovely as watching a carefully-laid plan unfold.

BANG. BANG. BANG. One by one the charges blew in quick succession, dropping carefully-chosen supports, dropping rubble on both sides of each door. The gangs startled, turning in all directions, guns ready, and it took them just a moment to realize that every entrance, every exit was now blocked. Silence as the dust began to settle, then an eerie, full, almost hysterical laugh began to echo from corner to corner. Some teens tried to fire in the rough direction of the laughter. Others huddled closer together, like frightened sheep. The figure watched, hidden, in silent satisfaction. It was strange, wasn't it, how the warmest, friendliest sound could become terrifyingly sinister in the right application. This shadowy observer had learned long ago about the power of laughter.

Lifting up a small, slender microphone, the figure spoke with the same husky, whispered voice into the carefully-wired sound system as the canned laughter died away. The words were clear, and easily audible. "Gentlemen. I have called you here tonight to engage in a small social experiment. Oh, don't bother trying to leave… you'll never make it out alive. There is a weapons cache in this room. The room is also filled with your most bitter enemies. The police are on their way… you will hear their sirens soon. Now what choice will you make? Will you work together, or fall apart? Turn on each other? Become a unified band?" A pause, and the voice became more deliberate. "Who will be your leader?" Right on cue, the sirens could be heard, faintly, and the figure smiled again. Of course they came. They couldn't resist the desire to try just one more time. Well, this time the police would finally get their wish. "Choose quickly." With that, the audio system went dead. The siren sounds approached.

The shadowed figure already knew the people in that warehouse were all doomed. In times like this, it didn't matter if there were forty level-headed young men among them. All they needed were ten who would panic, and it would spread. Oh, panic was contagious. Time to move on… Running lightly along the rafter beams, the figure crouched down first at one spot, then another, quickly scooping up tiny but powerful speakers, following the cables. There was no good reason to leave behind valuable equipment… yet. The figure crouched, quickly raising an arm to draw its cloak up protectively as a short, sharp blast sounded and several cries of pain were heard. Of course the idiots had tried the nearest manhole. A few shards of glass and metal bounced harmlessly away from the tight weave of the cloak. Any time now they would see it… yes… more cries of alarm and despair as the smoke cleared and they discovered that the manhole opening had been snugly bricked over. That had been the longest and most arduous part of the preparation work, and the figure smiled slightly again, glad that it had been properly appreciated.

The sirens were closer now. No time… with two speakers left, the figure pulled out a sharp knife. A quick flash and the cables were cut, leaving the figure free to pull the bag shut and climb up to the rooftop. The yellow pools of streetlight revealed a slight female figure, cloak streaming out as she ran for a small skimmer parked neatly in shadow. She climbed on, starting up the electric motor, which ran nearly silently as she lifted off and disappeared into the night.

Not black, but grey… cloak, close-fitting outfit, skimmer, all charcoal grey. There were a couple of sightings, of course, but nothing more than a silhouette. Nothing was found in the rafters except a cut-off cable, two slender, elegant speakers of the sort that could come from any department store, and a name carefully and artistically spray-painted on the wall in black and purple.

Shadow


	2. Chapter 1

It was a crisp, cold morning in Gotham City. The few squares of carefully tended grass were still a healthy green, but thick with frost. The occasional concrete-surrounded tree was dropping golden leaves like snowflakes, with a soft patter completely hidden by the persistent sound of traffic. Down in the basement of an old brick condominium building, an aged furnace rumbled to life, the vibrations felt through the floors of a series of neat one-car garages laid out next to each other, alternating with a series of neat front doors. When the place was brand new, it was considered one of the most expensive places in a lovely area of the financial district. Now it was just a simple place for hard-working people to live apart from the gangs that roamed the nearby ghetto.

On the third story up from the garage on the end, a miniblind-covered window flickered slightly and filled with slotted yellow light.

Tasha startled out of sleep at the insistent beeping of her alarm clock. She tapped the off button and dropped back down on her soft pillow, groaning quietly. Morning already? She reached for her nightstand, pulling her notebook computer into her lap as she sat up slowly. She popped the lid open and blinked blearily at the screen. Yes, it was just about time to get up. Her browser's home page brought up a series of widgets and gadgets, centering her back in reality, showing her the date, time, weather, and news headlines. Tasha tapped the screen gently, bringing up the local headlines, scanning for something she was not sure she would find. There it was: GOTHAM POLICE SUCCEED IN YOUTH GANG ROUNDUP. She read the story, smiling quietly to herself. Gotham's Finest had made a good haul. Her school building would be pretty quiet today.

She carried her laptop across her tiny bedroom, rerouting the power cord, and set it up next to the older computer on her desktop. It automatically began synchronizing her personal files and downloading the results of the physics simulation she'd left running when she'd gone to bed, along with her other homework. Glancing at the clock again and muttering to herself, the teenaged girl hurried to her closet to pick out a neat pair of secondhand bluejeans and a pretty, brightly-colored t-shirt.

Tasha's mother was already downstairs in the eat-in kitchen, at the stove, pouring hot water from the teakettle for oatmeal and coffee. She didn't speak in response to her daughter's cheery g'morning, but Tasha was used to that. The two of them looked so different, she used to wonder sometimes, when she was very young, if the woman was really her mother. Tasha's skin was noticeably lighter, a mocha brown, and her nose was wider. Only their large, dark eyes seemed to match. Tasha had been much older before she realized how her mother's face looked more as if it had been built rather than born.

"Do you have any tests today?" her mother asked in a soft voice, offering her a bowl of oatmeal and a cup of coffee.

"Yeah, Mom, I've got a history test and a science project. 'Old Faithful' finished my number crunching for me overnight and the results look good." Tasha smiled as she started eating. Her mother always put a little extra brown sugar in the oatmeal when she had a test or project to deal with that day.

"You were up late last night," her mother replied, smiling as she took her seat with her own breakfast. "Studying?"

Tasha cleared her mouth, trying to keep her stomach from tightening just slightly. "Yeah," she said. "For the history test. The music helps." She'd turned off her music a little after midnight and her light shortly afterwards.

"You're a good girl," her mother said approvingly, and Tasha relaxed.

The morning light was still low, turning Gotham into shades of greys with the occasional yellow pool of streetlight as Tasha set out for her highschool. She walked, her backpack on her back, her short figure warm inside a nice new green-dyed suede jacket with a fleece lining. She couldn't be bothered to fit her hair inside the hood this morning, so the dark brown ringlets spilled all over her head and shoulders, bouncing with each step. She looked almost like an L L Bean advertisement. She didn't take her skimmer. She didn't need to advertise any more undue wealth than she had to.

Tasha was perhaps five or six years old when she began to suspect that she had a mysterious rich uncle. Her mother worked as a bank teller, a dangerous but not particularly lucrative job in Gotham City. Christmas and birthdays were warm and beautiful, but a bit meager. At least, they would easily have been meager, if not for the Mystery Presents. Wrapped in brightly colored paper with beautiful red, green, and purple bows, they never said anything on them but her own name scribbled in crayon, and they always contained something very pricey that she either needed or wanted. Her skimmer had been a single Sweet Sixteen present, shimmering black and purple wrapped completely in holographic paper and left mysteriously in the single-bay garage over which their kitchen and living space perched. The presents hadn't always appeared only on major holidays; her notebook computer, simple and unassuming on the outside, was top-of-the-line, rugged and powerful, as if it had been meant as a piece of military equipment. It had appeared on her bed the day before this school year started. Unlike just about all of the notebooks bought by or given to the other students, hers was _not_ marked 'Wayne Industries'.

Only a few months ago had she learned the true identity of the mysterious gift-giver, and at the time she hadn't known whether to accept the notebook and accompanying coat and boots or whether to fling them out the window and pretend they never existed. The obvious care taken in their selection had softened her heart by degrees, and in the end she'd written her name in the clothing tags and personalized the machine for her own use.

……

"Miss Jefferson, I know you know the answer to this one." It was a familiar phrase in many of her classes, as there were few subjects Tasha did not enjoy. She found history fascinating and psychology more so. Math was an old, reliable friend, and Science was full of useful tools. This one was Psychology, and she gave the correct answer, keeping herself from glancing at the clock. It was almost the end of class, and she wanted to make a trip to her locker to unload her obscenely heavy history book before she had to wander across the entire school and up two stories to her Math class. At least, that was what she meant to do.

Tasha arrived too late to find out what caused the fight she nearly walked into. It was not an unfamiliar sight, though never a pleasant one. The main, most dangerous teens in the highschool were in jail for gang activity today, but there were still several nasty guys left. Most of the students ignored locker room poundings like this, just hoping to avoid getting involved. She recognized the kid in the midst of it, though, and she sighed softly. Poor Artie. Undersized, red-headed, freckled, and rich, he was a meek fellow and ran into a lot of trouble despite his father's influence. It looked like the brutes were pounding him worse than usual. They were probably upset by the disappearance of their leaders. For a moment, Tasha almost turned away as the other students did, as she used to do. Then she paused as she heard the boy gasp "Help me…" and realized that she was not the same person she had been yesterday, before the gang member roundup. Before the first time she'd been Shadow. The sudden thought came to her like a revelation, though at the same time it seemed obvious. _I'm Shadow whether I'm wearing my greys or not_.

But what could she do? Shadow was no great fighter. She relied on tricks and planning. Tasha had no planning for this situation, but she did have tricks. Acting nonchalant, she pulled out her cellphone, pretending to check her messages. She shifted position, carefully aiming it while trying to look as casual as possible… Click. Some more careful maneuvering, pretending to tap at the buttons… Click. She'd captured an especially incriminating piece of the fight as a low-resolution video file through her cell phone camera, and with luck the perpetrators did not notice. She dumped her history book as planned, keeping up her casual air. As she was leaving the locker room, though, she couldn't help but notice Arty trying to stifle a bloody nose with a wad of tissue. He looked at her, angry and defeated, almost accusingly. Instead of avoiding his gaze, she looked straight at him, surprising herself and him. _I didn't ignore you, Arty_, she thought. _Soon enough you'll be vindicated for this._

Tasha headed from there straight to the principal's office.

Far from the little old highschool building, miles outside of the main city, an even older mansion loomed as if it had been built to loom. In brighter days, it had been busier and friendlier. When Tasha was too young to conceive of places like mansions, it had been less friendly, but still filled with activity. Now most of it was dark and quiet. A man nearing that dangerous end of middle age sat at his desk, clipping newspaper articles. He knew there were better ways of doing this now, faster ways, with computers and special software. He still liked the feel of the newspaper in his hand and the time he could spend contemplating the article as his scissors carefully detached it. He laid it out and looked at the title again. GOTHAM POLICE SUCCEED IN YOUTH GANG ROUNDUP. Next to it lay a copy of the police report from that night. "Looks like there's a new player in town," he muttered to himself, then raised his voice slightly. "Alfred?"

"Yessir?"

"Bring me a new folder, will you?"

"Yessir."

A couple of minutes later, a new folder had appeared on the desk as if by magic, a testament to his faithful servant's years of experience in not interrupting his train of thought. He filed the newspaper article with the police report and labeled the new folder

SHADOW

……

Tasha left the school building at the end of the day feeling rather good about herself. She'd succeeded yet again, through her own trickery and quick thinking, in… uh oh. There was a group of teen guys hanging out in the parking lot, and most of them were now suspended thanks to her little video clip. Surely they couldn't have seen her… they couldn't be waiting for her, could they? She decided the best thing to do was to exit and act normal. Heart pounding in nervousness, she took a deep breath and strode out the glass double doors.

"Hey! Jefferson!" _Just ignore them, just ignore_… "We saw you with your little phone gadget. You think you're so cool? Wait 'till we're through with you!" _Ah crud_… Tasha weighed her options, silently consulting her "inner Shadow" for advice and coming up empty. She noticed them starting to close in on her, and she decided to go for the self-preservation route. Slinging her backpack to the ground, she broke into a run.

For a moment it seemed like her escape attempt might work. She was pretty quick, and she'd been trying to get more exercise ever since she had the idea of becoming a superhero. Tasha weaved down one street and then another, into one store and out the back entrance. The kids who were after her, though, included a few jocks, and they had better endurance. They were right behind her, and she knew it wouldn't be long before she made a mistake.

Like this.

Around a corner and nearly right into a concrete wall… Dead end. Tasha banged her fist against the unyielding wall once, then glanced around for a door in the surrounding brick. Nothing, nothing… A window… She lunged for it as her pursuers entered the otherwise deserted alleyway, but she was too late. One of them grabbed her around the waist and threw her to the ground. She landed hard. _C'mon, Tasha, Shadow fights better than this_, she thought, as she tried to rise and kick out. She didn't even manage to rise before two more of them jerked her to her feet and a third punched her in the stomach. That was when she knew this was going to end badly.

Tasha had never been in a real fight before. She'd always managed to avoid trouble by keeping her head down and not interfering in other people's 'business'. Her first attempt to play hero wasn't going terribly well. Several kicks and punches later, she dropped to the ground, curling up in an attempt to protect herself and wondering if she was going to survive. One more blow to the head, and everything went dark.


End file.
